Rhiannon stiffened to feel a shaking beneath her hands.
"What? She’s the one holding me," came a muffled voice full of manly innocence.
Rhiannon gasped, feeling the stifled words as they were spoken directly into her breasts. She let go of the wolf, throwing her hands back and up, only to discover that it was a naked man she patted and pressed to her chest. She’d been stroking her hands over the hair covering the hot, strong flesh of his back.
Malak didn’t instantly back away. His green-green eyes lit with mischief. He gave Rhiannon the most audacious grin she’d ever seen and nudged his head into her again, clucking her gently on the chin.
"You must be Lady Rhiannon," Malak murmured. Rhiannon’s cheeks turned a bright pink. He glanced to her breasts and said with a sultry groan, "It’s very nice to meet you, my lady."
Rhiannon fell back, her hands lifting helplessly higher, trembling as if she would push him away only to stop in confusion. All she managed was a feeble, "Uh-huh."
"Malak," Ilar demanded in dark warning, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Malak seemed unconcerned.
"Malak! Ilar!" The men turned as Larus threw their tunics at them from a distance. He stood by the two fallen wolves. Below in the prisons, the affected lycan guards howled into the mind link, hitting their bodies upon the bars. Angrily, he demanded, "Stop fooling around!"
Malak winked audaciously at Rhiannon as he backed away on all fours. Rhiannon just watched them all, helpless. She made a weak noise and didn’t move.
Ilar shot to his feet, catching his tunic with one hand. He glared down at her and Rhiannon trembled, covering her bared legs the best she could with the torn skirt of her gown. Ilar whipped his tunic around his body. Malak did the same, only more leisurely. Rhiannon did her best not to look at either of the naked men. Not that her modesty mattered, as they appeared completely comfortable with her seeing them in all their glory.
"What are you doing out?" Ilar asked, looking down at her. "I ordered you to stay inside!"
"Little man," she stuttered, weakly, trying to point where she last saw the troll.
Ilar’s look cut her off. He eyed her as if she were insane. She trembled, gesturing weakly in confusion.
In their language so the mortal couldn’t understand him, Larus turned to Ilar, and ordered, "Two of our men are fallen because of this temptress and the others are thrashing themselves bloody against their prison bars! I don’t care what it is that brought her here. You get up to your bedchamber and mate with her. I’ll have no more of this! Even if it isn’t the way to break the enchantment, I think we have little choice but to try."
Ilar swallowed. His eyes lit with fire as he looked over to Rhiannon. She stared at them, wide-eyed, frightened.
Malak grinned sheepishly. "Methinks you should go mate with her, Ilar. It’s the only way to end this cruel jest."
Larus and Ilar studied him at the words.
Suddenly, Larus frowned. He could get the barest drifting of the mortal’s scent as it tried to stir into his blood. He kept upwind of her. "You are unmated, Malak, yet you are not affected by her?"
Malak’s grin widened. Looking over at Rhiannon, he chuckled. "No, but she’s beautiful enough to stir my blood and, if you command me, I’ll gladly take her to my bed."
Ilar growled in low warning. Malak held up his hands, still chuckling.
"However," Malak continued, seeing he pushed Ilar too far. "The enchanted scent she carries is one I am immune to."
"You know what it is?" Ilar demanded.
"Yes, I know," Malak mused, drawing out his suspense with deviant pleasure. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Ilar.
"By all the Lycan, Malak!" Larus thundered, past the point of breaking. They all just wanted the howling in his head to stop. "Out with it!"
"You didn’t, perhaps, happen to insult a troll, did you?" Malak asked, pointedly staring at Ilar.
"What? Are you saying a troll did this to her?" Ilar said, skeptical.
"Yes, it’s a troll’s philter that’s clouding her head," Malak said, laughing. To him the situation was hilarious. "It’s nothing more than an abundance of pure pheromone. It’s why the unmated males of Lycaon are insane. I did best a troll once in sport and did get immunity to all troll magic. It was either that or his eldest daughter for prize. Until now, I’ve never had a need for it."
Larus’ face fell and he grimaced. "Cupid."
Ilar frowned, remembering how he teased the smelly little varmint one night after drinking too much. The troll had been absolutely vile and refused to bathe. He kept popping back up, too, after they’d thrown him out a dozen times. Sheepishly, he said, "Yes, Cupid. I might have called him a rosy faced cherub."
Malak’s laughter only grew. Rhiannon watched in wonder, not knowing what they said in their growling speech. They weren’t paying attention to her and she slowly edged to her feet.
"It’s you who insulted him, Ilar, so it’s you who must get him to lift this wretched curse," Larus commanded with a growl of exasperation. "All this fuss over an insulted troll! Malak, you go with him to find Cupid. Make sure the little troll sees reason and make sure Ilar doesn’t anger him further. Ilar, hold off on mating until we know for sure that it will end this. I won’t have the enchantment becoming worse if the others grow to be jealous of your claim to her. Who knows what Cupid had in mind when he did this?"
Ilar and Malak both nodded in understanding. Suddenly, Larus frowned. Rhiannon was making a run for it. Jerking his thumb, the King huffed in exasperation, "But first, Ilar, get her back in your chambers before more of her damned scent is brandished about!"
Malak’s chuckling only grew by bounds as Ilar took off at a sprint to catch up to Rhiannon. Malak glanced at Larus. The King winked at him.
"Yes, I know," Malak said, waving the man away only to follow behind him as they each lifted an unconscious soldier over their shoulders. The lycans weren’t badly injured. They’d be sore, but they’d live. The King led the way down to the prisons. "However, I’m not going to be the one to tell him there’s more between him and a human than the curse. Let him discover that one for himself."
* * * *
Rhiannon heard heavy footfalls behind her. Letting loose a squeal, her bare feet pumped faster until her lungs nearly exploded with her effort to be free. The breeze whipped over her bare legs, coming through the part in her ripped gown. She didn’t care. All she knew was that she wanted to be free of this strange place.
Seeing a side gate, Rhiannon ran for it. She tried to squeeze her body through the bars. It was too small, but it didn’t stop her from fitting her head through in an effort to get out.
Ilar chuckled as he easily caught her. With a sigh, he dipped his hand into the iron bars and gently forced her head back inside. Rhiannon groaned at being captured and instantly moved to strike at him.
Ilar caught her hand in his. Knowing it was only a troll’s revenge that brought her to him, he relaxed. Trolls were very powerful, but they had no allegiance to mortals and only used their magic for self-gain or mischief. They wouldn’t open the portals to humankind, just so that the mortals may flood into their world.
Naturally, when word spread of this trickery, Cupid would be in serious trouble with the other races. He risked too much for revenge. But, then, trolls weren’t known for their concern of consequences either.
Rhiannon swung her other hand at him and Ilar caught that one just as easily. Smiling, he saw a rip revealed part of her cleavage to his eyes. His body lit with fire. She glared at him, her eyes hot and murderous.
"Let me go," Rhiannon said, fighting him. Her teeth snapped at his wrist, trying to bite him. He artfully pulled her head into the warm, protective fold of his chest. He held her to him. Her words were muffled by hard muscle, as she tried to scream, "I want to go home! You’re all crazy!"
"Shh," Ilar soothed, trying to lead her back to the castle. She jerked in his arms, clawing and scratching violently to be free. He let her go, though
her fighting didn’t hurt him. If anything, he was more aroused.
"Do not tell me to be quiet!" she cried. "I tell you there was a little man who brought me here. He hit me over the head and brought me here. And he was just in your bedchamber and he smelled vile. That’s who you seek. Go find him. I’m through with all of this. I’m going home."
"How will you get there?" Ilar asked, with infinite patience. His eyes were devouring her legs, knowing that soon he would be able to stake claim to her. The danger had passed and Malak said the only way he knew to end her enchantment was to mate with her. Ilar licked his lips.
"I’ll walk!" She tried to storm past him, making her way back into the bailey yard.
"Rhian," Ilar said, reaching his hand to stop her. He grabbed her and pulled her back. "It’s not safe yet. We need to get you inside."
"Not safe?" she asked, disbelieving. "What is wrong with you beasts? Methinks I’ll be much safer out there in the wilderness than locked in here with you."
"Cupid has put an enchantment on you," Ilar explained. "It makes our kind crazy. Once the enchantment is gone, the threat will be gone."
"What are you saying?" Rhiannon shook, torn between anger and desire. Oh, but he was handsome to behold. Her body stung with embarrassment from their last meeting. Even seeing his body shift from wolf to man couldn’t lessen her longing for him. If anything, it made it worse. Oh, she was a wicked, wicked woman!
"You are under a ... a love spell. That’s why they attack you. They seek to mate with you. Once the spell is gone, the attraction will end. Now, please Rhian, come inside where it’s safe." Ilar kept his voice gentle. "If I let you beyond these walls, they will hunt you in the forest. You have no choice in this. If you wish to live, you’ll follow me."
Rhiannon felt her heart stop beating. Her eyes moistened slightly with tears as she looked at him, reading the truth in his eyes. He’d only kissed her because of a spell. He didn’t truly want her. Taking a hasty step toward the castle, she walked, keeping a furious pace so that he only saw her back. She wouldn’t let him see her pain at his admission. When the reached the stairwell leading to his tower, she asked softly, "You know how to end this enchantment?"
Ilar looked over her body, staring boldly at her hips. They swayed back and forth before his vision, a hypnotic seduction to his senses. "Yes, methinks I do. Malak, ah he’s the man you--"
"Ah--ha, yes, I know," she hastened, not wanting to think of the naked man she’d pressed firmly to her breast. The memory only mortified her.
"Malak and I will go to find Cupid. We’ll confirm that he’s the cause of this curse and see if he cannot lift it from you."
Rhiannon reached his door and pushed it open. Wearily, she walked inside. She kept her back to him, going to the window to stare out of the narrow slit. She didn’t turn to him, refusing to let him see the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
"Rhian, I must have your promise that you will stay in here until I get back." He reached his hand to lightly touch her shoulder. She shivered and he assumed she was still shaken from her experience in the bailey yard. Ilar didn’t want to think what would’ve happened to her if he’d not heard her cry.
"You’ll have it," she answered, having no wish to be attacked again. He ran his fingers down her arm and she knew he only touched her because of the enchantment. "And I’ll remind you of yours, Ilar. Now that the danger is passing, you will bring me home."
"I never promised to bring you home," he said. "I only promised to protect you."
Her jaw rose and she pulled away.
"But, if it’s what you wish, I’ll find a way to bring you home, Rhian. I promise."
"Thank you," she said. "It’s what I wish."
Ilar paused, watching the back of her head. The others still howled in agony and he knew he had to find Cupid to end it. But he didn’t want to leave her.
"I’ll send you food and a new gown," he said, before walking out the door.
Rhiannon didn’t move until she heard the key hitting in the latch to lock her in. Tears poured out from her eyes, blinding her with a sob. She gripped the hard stone, falling down the side of the wall. Her hands slid down with her body and she hit the stone floor in misery. Ilar only wanted her because of a spell and all she could think to do was weep.
* * * *
"You should’ve seen her." Cupid sighed with longing, as he looked across the campfire to the other trolls. Their beady eyes stared back at him, reflecting the fire like miniature fireflies. Their wrinkled skin looked much like Cupid’s though their noses were smaller and their ears perhaps a bit larger. "She was the loveliest mortal I’ve ever seen."
Cupid closed his eyes dreamily, knowing he had the others’ rapt attention as he spoke of his beloved temptress.
"Agrona," Cupid moaned, stopping to light his long, gnarled pipe with a burning stick from the campfire. "Agrona, the name of legends. She has the loveliest three hairs growing out of her mole. Ah, so perfect, my temptress, my swamp bottom vision of toadstool exquisiteness. I’ll be going back for her."
"Three," a pudgy troll grunted. His face looked as if someone had squished it down and together. His nose folded up over his lips. He nodded thoughtfully. "It’s a lucky count for hairs on a mole."
"Bah!" another, longer troll returned. His dirty brown pants stank to high heaven, much to his companion’s envy. "Methinks six is a sight more attractive."
Malak and Ilar glanced at each other, rolling their eyes. It hadn’t taken long for them to sniff out Cupid’s location. The odor he and his fellow trolls emitted leaked downwind for leagues. By the time they reached the little campfire it was well into the evening.
The lycans easily saw through the darkness as if it was daylight. Their eyes flashed with golden slivers. The moon was half full, shining the most exquisite silver over the land. The giant orb would shift its colors with the magic of seasons, but the silver moon always lasted the longest.
Cupid was lost in daydreams of his mortal goddess when the shadows of Malak and Ilar fell over him. The other trolls gasped, running to hide as the two lycan men stood daringly behind Cupid.
"Where...?" Cupid began, not finished talking about his temptress. He was just about to tell him about her one eyebrow and her pustules.
"Cupid," Ilar stated, a deep frown in his voice.
Cupid squealed like a pig, jumping to his feet to run away. Ilar tilted his head to Malak. Malak leapt into the air, landing gracefully before the troll. Cupid whined, sitting back, his dirty bottom thumping onto the ground. Taking the pipe from his mouth, he grumbled, "What is it you want, lycan? This is a private fire."
"You know why I’m here," Ilar stated with meaning. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the offensive little man.
"Do I now?" Cupid grumbled. Taking his pipe, he poked it into the air. "I suppose you’d be wantin’ to apologize for insulting me. Well, I have no use for your apologies. Begone, lycan."
"Cupid!" Ilar said, his voice lowering to a growl.
"Oh, very well." Suddenly, the troll smiled a wide grin on his long lips. Gloating he said, "It is I that set the mortal in your midst! It is I who enchanted all of Lycaon! And it is I who have proven my magical worth! Never shall you doubt me again, Lord Ilar."
"End it," Ilar commanded, his voice darkening with threat. Malak stood quietly, listening.
"I cannot end it," Cupid beamed, smoking on his pipe, very pleased with himself. Ilar leaned over and lifted him off the ground by the back of his neck. He grunted in surprise. His little legs pumped in the air as he tried to get free and his pipe fell to the ground, cracking. Yelling in protest, he said, "Only you can end it! You, Ilar, must mate yourself to the mortal woman. That’s how the curse goes away. Now, set me down afore I take offense."
Ilar growled for effect and set the troll back down. Instantly, he knew that the little varmint spoke the truth. He detected it just beneath his foul odor. Turning, he motioned his head toward Malak. Malak leapt back over the fire to follow him.
The other trolls cackled in pleasure of Cupid’s cunning, taking their seats back around the campfire. Cupid kept a wary ear pricked in Ilar’s direction, as he continued on with this narrative of womanly perfection.
Ilar and Malak walked from the troll campsite in silence. When the trolls were out of earshot, Malak grinned into the night. Ilar returned the look with a heated one of his own.
"Yes, Lord Ilar, you will have to mate the ugly mortal," Malak said, teasing.
Ilar’s eyes lit with passion. "Yes. That I most certainly will. Duty demands it."
Their bodies shifted into lycan form. Before turning to run, they grabbed their tunics between their teeth. Then, tearing along to the countryside at a full sprint, the two wolves raced back to Lycaon.
Chapter Six
It was late when Ilar made it back to Lycaon. He stopped to bathe the travel dust from his body in the stream, wanting to go to Rhiannon fresh. As they entered the castle, Malak, knowing his friend’s eagerness to tend to his ‘duty,’ offered to go to Larus and explain what they’d learned.
Ilar took to the tower steps two at a time, a grin spread unabashedly over his dark features. He couldn’t help it. His body sung with sweet anticipation. Rhiannon’s face danced within his brain, tempting him, teasing him, beckoning him. Her lips haunted his mouth and the intimate feel of her moist fire still burned into his hand. This time there would be no stopping. He would have her.
He trembled as he reached into his tunic for the key. Unlocking the door, he crept inside, his eyes going first to the bed. Frowning, he saw she wasn’t there.
"Rhian?" he called, stepping forward, his heart twisting in panic. A soft moan sounded on the floor and he was again able to smile. She was a stubborn one, he’d give her that.
Coming forward, he saw her before the fireplace, wrapped in the blanket he’d thrown down there the night before. He never expected she’d sleep there again, especially since he hadn’t been in the bed. Ilar frowned. He wondered if that meant she still wanted nothing to do with his bed. Her body readily melted for him, but what of her mind? Did her mind still resist him? Did she still think him nothing more than a hideous beast unworthy of touching her?
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